Happily Ever After
by ChampionTheWonderSnail
Summary: Response to a challenge for a Ferelden Fairy Tale on the CMDA Forum. Set in Warden Commander Alistair's world from 'Wishing You Were Here'. Rated 'T' for mention of 'plumbing'.


A/N: This straight-to-DVD-fanfic is in response to a challenge posted on the Cheeky Monkey's forum for a Ferelden Fairytale. It's inspired by a couple of 'real' fairytales and Roald Dahl's _Revolting__ Rhymes._

**Spoiler**** Alert:**Characters are from _Wishing__ You__Weren__'__t/Were __Here_ about Merran Amell and her Warden Commander and is set after the events of _Wishing__ You __Were__ Here_.

World is from Bioware…batteries and accessories sold separately…

-oo-

**Happily Ever After**

Rain lashed the shutters; rattling the glass violently. The latch finally gave during a sudden gust, tearing free from the wood and pinging across the room. Curtains billowed, the storm sweeping inside lifted parchment from the desk and turned an afternoon's work into a miniature, indoor tornado. The Warden Commander sprang from his seat. Battling the wind he managed to close the windows, needing to utilise every available limb before he could wedge a chair under the long handles. He backed away cautiously, hands raised at the ready should the chair solution fail, but the arrangement held…

The door opened. A silver head appeared, the rest of the elderly man clad in a long robe of rich emerald. "Ah…Your Grace," Seneschal Varel said. "I thought I heard a noise…"

The Seneschal looked at the mess of tattered, dampened parchment, leaves, branches and mussed Warden Commander. Alistair pushed the hair off his forehead, bending down to harvest the ruined documents.

"The latchy thingamydoodah came off…" Warden Commander Alistair sighed, locating said thingamydoodah and holding it up as evidence. "Ahh…Andraste's smoking snickerhosen," he said of his ruined day's work. "These are a mess…"

Varel looked towards the jury-rigged arrangement under the windows and made a mental note to add repair of the windows to his internal list. He could understand why the Warden Commander preferred this room to the commodious cavern that had been allocated to him on his arrival to the Keep two years ago. In the warmer part of the year the Orlesian-style dormer windows opened up to a small balcony, showing a picturesque view of the River Hakon and the Amaranthine Ocean. Along with the marvellous view, there were also the cool afternoon breezes, though during autumn and winter, those gentle breezes turned into howling gales, turning the relatively small space into nothing more than an icy, draughty space.

The Warden Commander however, did not seem to mind; the previous office had been turned into a meeting room for the Wardens and in any case, in a few months it would be used as something completely different when the Grey Wardens vacated the premises and the new Arl moved in.

Varel was not looking forward to the Wardens leaving. He had grown fond of this group of disparate, ragtag collection of people. They had become his children of a sort, especially the Warden Commander and his mage wife; their two adopted children his 'grandchildren'…but an order from the First Warden was an order that could not be disobeyed. Despite the not insubstantial contribution the Grey Wardens had made to Ferelden – and quite frankly – the rest of Thedas, the First Warden insisted all Wardens remain out of politics and disassociated with nobility.

_This__…_Varel mused cynically, _from __a__ man __rumoured__ to __be__ the__ defacto__ ruler__ of __the__ Anderfels__…_

It mattered little to Varel that the order from Weisshaupt had the Warden Commander doing his Happy Warden Dance in a room full of nobles as audience when he had received the First Warden's missive…He was disappointed and saddened nonetheless.

"You're up rather late…" Varel commented, in an attempt to distract himself from the inevitable sadness to come.

Surveying the crumpled stack of parchment again, Commander Alistair grimaced. "Ah…Just waiting up for the old ball and chain…" he murmured; turning to catch Varel's disapproving expression. "What?"

Varel used his elderly eyebrows to good effect. "You know she finds that particular term distasteful."

"Yeah well…" the younger man shrugged. "She can't hear me…But you know, just in case…" He raised his voice slightly, stating to the world in general: "Yeah…a really cute and _adorable_ ball and chain…" He turned back to Varel. "Do you think that'll do it?"

Varel suppressed a smile, though attempting to look stern did not work either. He returned to more safer subjects. "I will add the latch to the maintenance list, Your Gr…" Varel found an ink-stained finger being waggled in front of his face.

"Uh-uh-uh, Bobbo…" The Warden Commander sang, intentionally mangling Robert Varel's given name; something of a running joke between the two men. "I am _officially_ not 'Your Grace' any more, remember? Not even 'Your Graceless'…" The Warden Commander paused to throw his arms into the air for a victory wave.

"'Your Graceless'?" Varel queried.

"Oh yeah…Heard it at the last official gathering of the wolves," Alistair told him. "Huh…Probably didn't think I overheard that one…did you?"

_Ah__…_the statement and stater fell into place in the Varel's head. "In Bann Ruffel's defence," he told the Warden Commander in his reasonable tone of voice, "you _did_ offer to shove his milk cow into a very _impolite_ place."

"Last meeting of Banns and Bannettes," Alistair shrugged, completely unrepentant. "I wanted to go out in a blaze of glory. _Any_way…" Retrieving a hand-knitted scarf from the back of his large, wing-backed chair, he threw it around his neck. "The throne room is not a place for livestock, even you know that. As a matter of fact, that rule was one of your inventions."

Varel lifted his eyes ceilingwards. In deference to his sanity, he would not mention the _goose_ incident that gave rise to that rule...Coughing politely into his fist, he said instead, "Where _is_ young Warden Merran?:

"Delivering babies again," Alistair sighed. "She mentioned she would probably be back early morning. Apparently babies like to be fashionably late..."

A loud crack of thunder punctuated the Commander's sentence. He cast a worried look towards the balcony. "I know she has too much sense to travel back in this…wea…Oh who am I kidding? She would, wouldn't she? And she'd probably get struck by lightning or waylaid by bandits, take a wrong turn and fall into the Amaranthine Ocean and end up washed up in Seheron or somewhere where she'd cause an international incident." He looked towards Varel, seeking his reassurance. "Maybe I should send out a search party? A couple of extra rain macs? A diplomatic taskforce…?"

"Surely she did not go on her own?" Varel enquired.

"No, _cat_-boy went with her…" Alistair made a face, disapproving completely of that arrangement. "I wanted Kristoff to go, but it's his family night…"

Varel reached out and patted the man reassuringly on the shoulder, feeling more like the Commander's grandfather at this moment than his Seneschal. "You should get some sleep, Commander."

"Sleep…" Alistair repeated slowly. "I think I'll head down to the kitchens first. I think Cook had some mince pie tucked away somewhere. Will you join me?"

Varel shook his head, to the accompaniment of another loud boom of thunder. Lightning flashed through the gap in the curtains. Judging from the timing of light and noise, the storm was now directly overhead. For her sake, he wished Warden Merran was still busy trying to bring new life into the world and not attempting to wade across the marshes of Amaranthine. He wasn't quite sure whether he could vouch for the safety of the lightning if Warden Merran was exposed to it…

-oo-

When the next roll of thunder sounded, the walls of the Keep shuddered. It might as well have been an earthquake and not just another coastal storm, so typical of the area at this time of year. Alistair didn't care much, thinking of Merran and hoping for once she would show some common sense when it came to her own safety.

_When __has __she _ever_…__?_

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he made his way to the Keep's kitchen. He was not surprised to find it well lit and occupied. The Keep's kitchen was arguably the favourite gathering place for the Wardens, seeing as the Keep's cook had a talent for keeping the larders well stocked with a decent range of easily accessible comestibles and satisfying snacks.

What he was surprised to see however, were two _non_-Wardens perched on the benches, a plate piled with pork pies between them.

Jamming his fists onto his hips, the Warden Commander marched towards the table.

"What's this?" he demanded in his most authoritative voice. "Why aren't the two of you in bed?"

Two sets of eyes looked up at him; one pair light brown, the other a clear turquoise. The brown pair stared back defiantly.

"I was hungry," the lad began when an extra thunderous boom sounded overhead. Brogan jumped, wide-eyed. Snatching a pork pie, he hastily shoved it into his mouth, pretending to chew with enthusiastic, eight year old relish.

"No shame in admittin' ya hate storms…" _Thunk._Warden Oghren slipped a tin of sweet currant biscuits onto the table after he'd dispensed of the plate of cold roasted chicken from the other. "Damn near gave me a heart attack first time I heard one. Sounded like an entire herd of Bronto stampeding in the sky."

A large ceramic flask of something probably alcoholic joined the already impressive haul on the table. Alistair reached out and pointedly moved it out of reach of the children. Merran would have his hide if she found out either Brogan or Amethyne had been exposed to Oghren's stash.

"Why aren't _you _in bed?" he demanded the dwarf.

"You kidding me, Commander?" Oghren said, attempting to navigate conversation around a chicken leg and failing miserably. "Who can sleep in this racket?"

Alistair leant back, folding his arms, waiting for further explanation from the dwarf.

"Yeah…and the missus might be a little…miffed at me too," Oghren belched. He reached for the flask, tipping it to forty-five degrees. Some of the liquid from inside the flask even managed to make it into his gaping mouth. Wiping his beard with the back of his hand, Oghren added, "So thought I'd spend some quality time with my Warden pals."

Someone at the other end of the table cleared his throat pointedly. Grabbing another leg, Oghren sniffed. "Oh yeah and the Elf too, I suppose…"

Swaying into sight, Zevran flipped the dwarf a salute. "I am honoured my propriety-challenged friend…"

"Yeah, well it takes one to know one…" Oghren grunted back at him.

On cue, another rumble of thunder shook the Keep's walls. Brogan grabbed another pork pie, stuffing it into his mouth as he had the first. Alistair's hand automatically snaked out and removed it. Stretching over, he picked up the dwarf lad and plonked him into his lap; the two of them sitting beside Amethyne, just in case.

"I'm not scared!" Brogan protested.

"Of _course_ you aren't…" Amethyne agreed. She turned to Alistair, looking fierce. "It's because Merran-Mama's out in the storm and we're worried about her, _aren__'__t_ we?"

Reaching out with his free hand, Warden Alistair gave his adopted daughter a grateful hug. Not for the first time in the last two years was he thankful that he and his insane mage wife had adopted this wonderful child from the orphanage in Denerim. Brogan was certainly easier to handle with Amethyne around, especially at times like these when Merran wasn't there to be his shield, the younger of their adopted children being at that tricky age where he was in training for a double-digit age but acting like someone with three…

"Well, _I__'__m_ afraid," Alistair said, tightening his arm around the boy as another rumble of thunder rattled the empty plates on the table.

Young Brogan turned around with a well-practised sneer. "Yeah well, _you_ would be."

"You know…" Zevran's voice floated up from the other end of the table. "I have memories of similar storms from my youth growing up in Antiva City. To distract the younger ones, the whores would tell us tales of beautiful women and dangerously handsome princes…"

"No such thing as a dangerously handsome prince," Oghren disputed with a loud belch. "Only kinds I know are made of candy floss and fly farts."

On the Warden Commander's lap, Brogan guffawed, slapping the table with glee. No one else appeared to laugh.

"This is dwarf thing, isn't it?" Alistair asked sourly.

The sky boomed. Brogan shuddered. Oghren thumped the table. "I got one! Heh…" He poked Brogan in the chest. "You'll like this one. You'll see…A traditional dwarven tale about a…well, I'll just tell it…

"It's called…" Oghren announced in a deep voice that sounded like thunder itself.

"_Snogwin __and __the__ Seven__ Amenable__ Elves__…_"

Clearing his throat, the dwarf first checked to make sure he had his audience riveted.

"Yeah…so, once upon a bloody time, there was a good king…not like that nug-sucking Bhelen; wouldn't trust him to sell my own grandmother…stab you in the back soon as look atcha…where was I? Oh yeah…So this king had a kid…well you know his wife had the kid, she having the right plumbing for that sort of thing, hur hur hur…"

"Can you just get on with it?" Alistair asked, his ears turning pink. Brogan turned to look up at him.

"What kind of 'right plumbing' did she have, Da?"

"I'll tell you when you're thirty-five."

"Aww…!"

"Are ya listening to my story or not, squirt?" Oghren thumped the table again. Brogan nodded. Taking a swig from the flask, Oghren swiped at his face once more and began again…

-oo-

_Snogwin and the Seven Amenable Elves_

"Once upon a time, there was a good king, who we have already ascertained was completely unlike the bastard that's sitting on the throne in Orzammar right now. Anyhow. He and his Royal Queeniness had a kid; a beautiful little girl with skin as pale and clear as lyrium ore and eyes as dark as those dark things in the Deep Roads – don't even think of askin' what – anyhoo, the Queen died kind of young. Maybe got pushed off her throne because her father got turned into a frog, who knows, but it left poor Snogwin motherless and that ain't a good thing.

By and by the old king married again; a young woman – possibly Orlesian – who didn't take kindly to bein' an instant Ma to a kid that was better lookin' than she was. She owned a mirror that kept tellin' her this…Anyway as time went on the kid grew up even more lyriumy and dark-eyie than her step mum. The other thing was Snogwin was actually a good kid. She could swing a battle axe like ya wouldn't believe, winnin' at all the annual Provings…plus she made the best damned nug roast in the kingdom.

Well…Step-Queen didn't like this one bit and sent one of her men to take Snogwin out to the forest, regicide her, cut out her heart and take it back to the Step-Queen as proof.

When the time came to bump her off though, the Step-Queen's guy was overcome with guilt, probably because murder is illegal and wrong unless some nug-humper's stolen your ale wot you just put down for five bloody seconds because you needed to take a piss under the…never mind about that…He didn't kill her is what I'm trying to say. He let her go and told her never to come back. Then he went down to the local nuggery, traded in a tooth for a nug heart and brought it back to the old Step-Queen who celebrated by getting' stone-piss drunk and ended up in the city fountain buck-naked and tied to a goat.

_Meanwhile__…_Snogwin had been wanderin' the forest, all alone and pissed off, so she grabbed her mighty war axe Blunt Stone and started choppin' down trees.

Well it so happened that these trees were home to some _elves,_ who fell out of those trees owin' to the fact that they'd stupidly built tree houses to live in, in a fire-prone area surrounded by enthusiastic woodcutters.

The elves weren't happy, not the least for losing major structural integrity in their humble arboreal abodes but when Snogwin told the elves her tale of woe, they cried 'conspiracy'! and decided then and there to help her.

So the elves raised an elven army, marched on the royal city, dragged the Step-Queen out on her butt and killed her. Snogwin became the official queen and made the elves her own, personal love slaves and horticulturalists because elves like all that _green_ stuff and everybody lived happily ever after…The End."

-oo-

Oghren sat back, basking in the warmth of stunned silence. He picked at his teeth a little before laying claim to a pork pie.

"Well…" Alistair forced himself to speak. "That was…unexpected."

"Thought you'd like it," Oghren grinned, congratulating himself.

"How many _elves_ were there?" Brogan asked suspiciously.

"Seven," Oghren stated around a mouthful of pie. "I already toldja."

"What were their _names_?" Brogan persisted.

"Bill, Ben, Nellie, Wellie, Kellie, Mellie and Zoomba," Oghren said with rapid-fire confidence.

"That's dumb," Brogan made a face at him.

"Yeah, well ya got ya story. What else do you want?"

The room rumbled. Brogan whimpered. As he burrowed into Alistair's chest, he whispered. "I hope mama's alright…"

"Uncle Zevran, do _you_ have a story?" Amethyne asked quickly.

"As a matter of fact," Zevran smiled widely. "I do."

"Please tell me it doesn't involve nug hearts and treason…" Alistair pleaded.

"As a matter of fact, it involves hair," Zevran explained, cocking a cheeky eyebrow. "A _lot_ of hair."

"I'm afraid to ask," Alistair cringed. "But…go ahead…"

Leaning forward, Zevran began his tale…

"It is called…_The__ Assassin __and__ the__ Mage__ of __Many __Hairs__…_

"Maker help me…" Alistair rolled his eyes.

"Ah, but there is no Maker in this story," Zevran told him helpfully. "But an assassin so godlike and _gorgeous_, he might very well have lured a lonely prophetess from her goat-horn-hat-wearing husband…"

"I wanna hear it!" "Me too!" Brogan and Amethyne chimed in and so Zevran began…

-oo-

_The Assassin and the Mage of Many Hairs…_

"Once upon a time, many, many years ago in a country very far, far away, there lived a royal couple; a happy one, whose queen did not die young so that the king was forced to marry foolishly…or they would have been happy except for a little problem the king had which affected his performance in the bedroom. As it was a most _embarrassing_ problem, the king decided to seek the aid of a witch who prescribed a simple yet effective course of action…"

"Stop, stop…" the Warden Commander held up his hand. "I can see where this is going. I don't think you've noticed, but there are_ children_ in the audience."

"But of course, my peach-blush Commander," Zevran shrugged a slender shoulder. "This _is_ a children's story."

"_Really?_" Alistair gaped at him skeptically. "I mean…_really?__"_

"Really!" Zevran held his arms out wide, looking as innocent as a cat covered in canary feathers. "Shall I continue?"

"Fine…Just watch yourself."

"Oh, I always do…I am such an appreciative audience…"

Alistair positioned his hands so that he could cover Brogan's ears at a moment's notice. He nodded for the assassin to continue.

"Well, then…

The whole point was that the king and queen who loved each other very much wanted a child, but was unable to do so due to the king's _'__little__ problem__'_. The witch was able to help but at a price. She forced the king to sign a complicated contract with many clauses, appendices, annexes and attachments. The king was so desperate to make his queen happy and so confused by the legal jargon that he signed, little knowing at the time that he had just agreed to hand any issue as a result of the witch's remedy over to her…

Predictably, the witch's remedy worked and a child was born to the royal couple within the year. As per the contract the king had signed, the witch _swooped_ down…"

All heads at the table turned to the Warden Commander. "What?" Alistair demanded. And then he _realised._"I'm not going to say it…" Amethyne turned dewy eyes up at him and he caved immediately. "Oh very _well_…swoopingisbad…can we move on, please?"

Zevran complied happily. "The king and queen were saddened, but the contract was iron-clad, and tighter than an Orlesian courtesan…'s purse strings…and so the little princess was taken away by the witch who locked her up in a tower, never to be seen or heard of again…

As time passed, the princess found that she could perform feats of magic, causing flowers to explode from simple sticks and rabbits to appear from hats. She could also make gold coins disappear from her hand, only to reappear behind someone else's ear like…_magic_. But the princess was wise as well as beautiful and she kept her magic hidden away from the cruel witch.

Now, because the Tower did not have a ladder or stairs, the witch bade the princess to grow her hair very long, so that she could climb up it. This continued for _years__…_Until the king and queen who missed their daughter very much decided to hire an assassin to find the princess. The assassin was of course, the best that money could buy. Sleek as a cat, devilishly handsome and charming, the assassin readily agreed to the Mark. He tracked the witch and her Tower to the furthest corner of the kingdom and there he waited and watched, learning the witch's habits and movements…

One day the assassin spied the witch leaving the Tower. As soon as she was out of view, the assassin went to the Tower, calling out in a tolerable imitation of the witch's voice for the princess' hair. He climbed up it and of course, as these things go, as soon as the princess saw the assassin, she was smitten, agreeing to elope with him then and there.

Many hours later, when the witch returned, she climbed up the princess' hair, only to find the assassin at the top of the Tower. He performed the assassination and using the princess' very handy magic, the two of them escaped together, joining a travelling circus and making their fortune and earning great fame performing great feats of derring-do and magick'ry. They lived, I am sure I need not to tell you, happily ever after…"

-oo-

"What about the king and the queen?" Alistair demanded, blinking as though emerging from a dark cave into the sunlight. "Wasn't the assassin supposed to return the princess to them? Wouldn't that have counted as a breach in contract?"

"How _tall_ was this Tower, Uncle Zevran?" Brogan asked, narrow-eyed.

"Oh, very tall," Zevran answered, ignoring the first question quite happily for the second, though he was beginning to regret that particular strategy…

"How did the bad witch get up the Tower before the princess grew her hair then? It would have taken years, wouldn't it?" Brogan asked slowly.

"Magic, of course!" Zevran stood. "And now, I shall bid thee good night!"

"What the _Fade_ is going on here?" a familiar voice called out at the kitchen entry. Alistair turned to a chorus of "Mama!" "Merran-Mama!" Brogan squirmed from under Alistair's arm, flying across the room and latching himself to the new arrival's leg.

Merran walked unsteadily into the room. Her gaze took in the pile of food, Oghren swaying slightly on the bench and Zevran nibbling daintily on one of her currant biscuits. "Do you people realise what time it is?" she demanded.

"Time you came home…!" Alistair stood. Winding his arms around his damp wife, he whispered, "Storms…couldn't sleep..."

When he released her, she was still looking unimpressed, dark circles of fatigue circling her eyes and there was a darkness to them that had little to do with mere tiredness.

"The baby?" he whispered. She shook her head, biting her bottom lip to stop it from quivering.

"Twins…" she whispered back. "One didn't make it…"

Reaching down, Alistair attempted to prise Brogan from Merran's leg. "I'm not scared!" he continued to protest, finding himself flung over the Warden Commander's shoulder. The four of them – Warden Commander, mage warden and children – began to bid the others good night, quite happy to leave the others to demolish the last of Cook's store of Grey Warden midnight snacks.

"What?" Zevran called after the four of them, "But the party is just beginning!"

"Yeah…" Oghren chimed in, squinting at them. "We could wake up Whiny and he can tell a story."

_Whiny__…_Alistair hustled his family faster out of the kitchen. If the others were contemplating waking up _Jowan _for a story, it was time for a retreat. Knowing his luck, Cat-boy would end up being involved and he really didn't want to hear _any_ story involving Ser Pounce A Lot, wearing boots, garter belts or feathered waistcoats. _Maker,__ that__ man__'__s __obsession__ with__ his __cat __is __just__ unnatural__…_he thought, kicking the kitchen door closed on the other Wardens' protests. Considering where Anders _took_ his cat these days, it was a wonder it didn't end up _tainted__…_

"I'm going to sleep with Mama," Brogan stated, poking him in the back firmly.

"Well, I don't think that's a good id…"

"Sure sweetpea," Merran answered before Alistair could finish his sentence. "It's a chilly night. We can all snuggle up together."

"Yay!

"Yay!"

"Yay…Not…"

At their final destination, both dwarf and elf child took a running leap for the wide bed, wriggling under the blankets and pulling them up to their chins. Commander Alistair considered sleeping on the floor…except a pile of smelly, mismatched fur already had lain claim to the expansive fur rug in front of the fireplace. As Alistair looked, a single brown eye opened, a low canine growl sounded in warning…_Back __off,__human__…__I__ was __here__ first__…_

"Oh Maker, I'm so _tired_…"

Alistair watched soundlessly as his wife fell fully clothed, into bed, snuggling up to their children with a mutual giggle.

Sighing in defeat, Alistair kicked off his boots and squeezed in next to his wife, anticipating being jamrolled out of bed any time during the early hours of the morning to meet the cold stone floor…All the pillows were taken…Was it too much to ask to be able to sleep with his _wife_ on his own some time…? There was certainly no point in _dressing_ for bed, seeing as he didn't really wear a sleep tunic anyway…And he did not anticipate being able to sleep either.

"Actually…" Amethyne said on the other side of the bed. "I think I have a story…"

"Ooh!" Merran claimed Alistair's arm, wrapping it around her middle for warmth. "I hope it has a happy ending!"

Stretching her arms up behind her head, Amethyne gazed up at the underside of the canopy.

"I hope it does," she said. "It's called…Hm…

-oo-

_The Little Princess…_

"Why does it always have to have a princess?" Brogan complained sleepily. "Why can't it have a dwarf warrior that can kill a fully grown bronto with his _teeth_?"

"Because it's not as cute," his mother said, poking him in the side, until he was forced to promise to be quiet.

"So…" Amethyne said, adding a jab of her own. "This _princess__…_

Lived in a country much like our own, a very long time ago. Her father passed away when she was very young and while she couldn't quite remember what he looked like or what he sounded like, her mother used to tell the princess stories about him; how kind and wise and hard working he was. The princess and her mother was very happy, even though her mother often worked abroad and could not spend as much time with the princess as she would have liked.

While the queen was away, tragedy struck. Bad men invaded the country. The princess' lands and home were taken away and the princess herself was forced to hide from the bad people who made her people suffer and turned the once beautiful countryside into wasteland; the streams and lakes into desert. The princess was scared and even more lonely than before, but she was saddened most of all by the terrible things that were happening to her people. One by one, children disappeared, along with their mothers and fathers; entire families…never to be seen or heard from again. The princess worried, wondering what she could do to save her people, but she had no army and she was only little and was not very strong.

Then one day, when the princess was feeling particularly sad, a man in silver appeared to her. He was not like the bad men, but kind and wise and taught her how to be brave. He told her that she was not alone and that her country was not lost, but that it would be saved by a valiant warrior. The silver man also told her to look for a special sign; a lion with the head and wings of an eagle. After telling her this, the silver man disappeared never to be seen again.

The princess was alone again, but with the silver man's words always in her thoughts, she looked every day for the sign. Things in the country grew worse. More bad people came and the land turned black, the sky always dark. Evil flying creatures appeared, but it was not the winged lion. The princess became scared, thinking that the silver man had been wrong. With nothing left to do, she hid and cried, thinking of her mother and the father she had never known. While she was thinking, there was a great shriek in the sky. The princess looked up and saw a white light so bright it hurt her eyes.

Out of the light came a figure, tall and strong and on his chest, just as the silver man had described, was a lion with the head of a fierce eagle and wings spread for flight. It was the _sign_ and the princess' heart was filled with hope and gladness.

The warrior and his army fought and defeated the bad men, saving the princess' people and returning their homes and land. The countryside was able to become green again, the sky blue. The people rejoiced; the princess smiling to see her people happy once more, but the warrior could see that under her smiles, the princess was sad because she was alone. So the warrior took her up and made her his daughter and gave her a mother and an annoying brother who kept stealing her cheese when she wasn't looking. This was alright with the princess, because she knew how to share and her heart every day was filled with happiness and so she lived happily…ever…after…"

A soft snore emerged beside Amethyne when she was finished. The bulk of storm had moved on, even though rain still battered the windows. Thunder could be heard rumbling in the distance, but Brogan remained fast asleep. Amethyne pulled the heavy covers over her brother's shoulder and looked up to see her Warden father dashing tears from his eyes.

"I wasn't crying…" he whispered defensively. "A bug flew in my eye…"

Amethyne lay down with a smile. "I knew that," she said.

He frowned at her slightly. "Brogan steals your cheese?" he asked.

Amethyne wnked at the grinning woman next to him. "Good night Merran-Mama," she told them both. "Good night, Da."

Closing her eyes, Amethyne felt something touch her brow; feather-light and scented slightly of elfroot, mud and baked apples. "Goodnight…Princess Amethyne…" she heard whisper in tandem as sleep claimed her too.

End


End file.
